


Silent Harbors

by sass_bot



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mystery, Psychological Horror, Survival Horror, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sass_bot/pseuds/sass_bot
Summary: In Ava's restless dreams, she sees that town. Wayhaven.She is left with no other option but to offer herself to the mysterious and insatiable forces drawing her to the town. If she is to escape, she must—with sweat and blood—dig through the skin and the meat of Wayhaven and pluck its heart out at the core—force its hand. And in the process, she may finally come to understand that which beats within the rusted scaffolding of her being.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	Silent Harbors

Ashes. A generous dusting of chalky grey—ashes that bury knives in your eyes and burrow beneath your tongue—mixes in with the humid, acrid air.

And fog—so thick you could scoop it out of the atmosphere like snow. It melts and morphs around Ava’s body as she walks. She is a lone black figure in a colorless ocean—trudging her way along a path that seems to nudge her along as though she were a shapeless bolus with nowhere to go but down, down, and down into the belly of the beast.

In the distance, she can hear a laughing dove cooing. It’s far enough that it’s difficult to discern where it’s coming from, but close enough that the sound dances across her taut nerves like an acrobat in a circus.

To recall how she found herself in this place, would be to recall the dream and the phantom that adds a glossy white tile to the mosaic with every restless night stolen from her.

It is to recall a shadow running through the forest, a shock of fabric chasing it like a plume of smoke, blending in with the thick, impenetrable fog, and a voice that calls out to her. A voice that tells her to come to Wayhaven.

At the end of the path is the cliff, waiting for her. It is possessed of a mind to taunt and manipulate her, and emotions to lash out at her when she recoils in horror. There’s blood on the rocks below—crimson against the shades of grey—but no mangled corpse. Perhaps the blood is her own, waiting for her to take the dive. Though it is fear that she feels (fear she _must feel_ ) it wears the mask of relief and resignation. The end is only natural and what _unfettered_ _joy_ it must be to sink into the white noise of the afterlife (she feels it, but the feeling is entrusted to her—handed to her wrapped in scarlet ribbons)—what _bliss!_

And while she feels as though she is eroding little by little in the acidic atmosphere, she could not leave if she wanted to. And she categorically does not want to. Every time she closes her eyes, she is here—in this town—and whatever barrier had once held back the sands of the hourglass for the past 900 years has dislodged itself. The sands wash over her and all she can hear is the ocean—

And that blasted dove, cackling at her…

All knowledge she’d held of Wayhaven is what she’d heard from Rebecca; her impression of it had been that it was unremarkable—plain, even. She’d expected to find people here— _a town_. And yet, she feels like she’s stepped into the model of a town—a set of brick walls, streets, trees, cobblestone come together to masquerade, to pretend. Not a single living soul blemishes this blank canvas—neither person nor animal. It is not that they’ve abandoned this space; rather, it is as though they’d never existed to begin with.

To recall how she found herself in this place, would be to recall that there is nothing there—nothing at all. There is only the instinctive compulsion to keep moving forward—to seek out what she’s come here to find. As she reaches into the far recesses of her mind, there is nothing but fog as far as the eye can see… _and dust._

Dust coats her completely, painting her skin, and she cannot remember what it is like to touch anything else. Every single sense is reset as an infant wrested kicking and screaming from the womb. All she knows— _all she could ever want to know_ —is waiting for her beyond the frosted glass.

The pads of her fingers slide down the icy window, as she strains her vision to peer through, but all she sees is her emerald-eyed reflection staring back. This Ava looks right at home in the ashes; she is a part of them, her pallid face painted in the same strokes as the distorted environment surrounding her. Her hand slowly curls into a fist, knuckles resting against the glass.

The dove calls again and a body crashes into the rocks, sinking into the depths of the ocean.

Ava opens her eyes and she’s in Wayhaven.


End file.
